Small Favors
by FullMentalPanic
Summary: A FMA AU that merges with a classic fairy tale in far from the classic style.
1. Where Things Get Established, Mostly

**Small Favors  
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_Beginning:_ _Where Things Get Established, Mostly  
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By FullMentalPanic

Winry smashed the door with her wrench. It didn't do any damage against either the wrench or the barrier she was attacking.

"Yoki, you've got five seconds to let me out of here!" she hollered and punctuated the demand with a bang against the narrow slit that allowed her to see into the hallway.

"That won't do at all, Miss Winry." The view of the hallway was replaced by the much less appealing one of Lieutenant Yoki. She couldn't see much of his face, but the eyes made it evident he was wearing his perpetually snooty expression. "You haven't fulfilled your end of the bargain."

"It won't get fulfilled no matter what!" She glared and wondered if she could get his eyes if she jammed her wrench through the slot in the door. Even if she could, it wouldn't be an ideal diplomatic move. "Look, I was trying to build up my reputation with a little urban legend. I can't really - "

"You're too modest, my dear. I have complete faith in your abilities."

"I CAN'T - "

"Shouting won't convince me. I can always tell when someone is lying." Yoki's face disappeared as a strip of metal was drawn across the opening. "You have until tomorrow morning, dear lady."

"Oh!" She attacked the door again, incoherently fuming at the obtuseness of the man. It did no good, his footsteps and those of his coyly smug bodyguard tapped into silence.

She kicked the door with no better results than before. Worse in fact; now her foot hurt. Ignoring it, she paced rapidly, trying feverishly to think. What did she have to work with? She sprang over to the haphazard pile in the room and dug through determinedly. Nothing immediately presented itself as useful. Of course it wouldn't have been conducive if they locked her in a cell then gave her the means of breaking out of it. They had left her a wrench, but the hinges were on the opposite side of the door.

She examined the one way out, trying to determine if there were any weaknesses she could tear into or open spaces she could manipulate with tools. It was very old fashioned. It was locked by a bar on the outside and a sheet of welded metal extended from the frame on the non-hinged side, which meant she couldn't slip anything into the space between the door and the frame.

If there was one thing she was tired of, it was asking herself why she had ever made that ridiculous claim in the first place. That didn't prevent her conscious and sub-conscious self from screaming the question at each other as if the boast hadn't been made with the complicit consent of both. The likelihood, the odds, the options for ways this situation could end well had pretty much teetered off the edge of the precipice of oblivion.

Winry glanced up at the one naked bulb harshly illuminating the room. Unless she felt she'd be able to construct something in the dark, using parts from that wouldn't be an option. Who would have thought that light would have been more imprisoning than darkness? It also ensured that she clearly saw what happened next.

Blue light crackled on one wall of her cell and she sprang to the opposite one. Her sense of self-preservation ended there however, and she watched mutely and unmoving as the wall pulled back and reformed like clay. A small, long haired creature crawled in. She was shocked into saying the first obvious conclusion her mind came to.

"My, what a strange little man you are."

The creature bounced to its feet indignantly.

"YOU CALLING ME SHORT! I'VE SEEN FLEAS WITH MORE HEIGHT ON THEM THAN YOU, YOU PERCEPTIVELY CHALLENGED PIECE OF WORK!"

My, what good voice projection he had.

She stared at the fuming and bristling...boy. Huh, he looked about the same age she was. Not that she considered herself a little girl, she was an established automail mechanic, almost. Someone with the height he had didn't really proclaim 'man' -

"You just gonna stand there like an idiot or you gonna apologize?"

What was more important than this individual who had just invaded her cell was how he had arrived in the first place. With a delighted exclamation she darted toward the new hole in the wall. Escape!

There was a sharp clap and the hole was suddenly whole again, lanced with fading light and completely destroying her anticipation of vacating the premises.

"I didn't come here to help criminals dodge their sentences."

"Criminal!" she flared indignantly, giving the wall a passing poke with her wrench as she faced him.

"You're in jail, you did something."

"I'm totally innocent," she said haughtily.

"Whatever," he scoffed. "I don't do random favors for people. Exchange has to have a balance."

Exchange has to be equivalent, suddenly what should have clicked as soon as she saw the wall reform itself fit together. "You're in the Alchemy Guild."

He puffed up, which still didn't succeed in making him look any bigger. "Sure am, and I'm not about to blacken their name by aiding a worthless probation offender."

"I wasn't on probation! I've never even been arrested."

"How'd you get here then?" he drawled sarcastically. "Doesn't really matter to me anyway. What I'm looking for obviously isn't here, so I'll just leave you to your debt to society." He flicked his right hand dismissively and started walking to the opposite wall.

When he moved that arm, there was a subtle clank and whirr, and Winry latched onto it with a zipping glint in her eye. She bounded after him. He started, but she clamped onto his right arm and in one movement had the scarlet jacket sleeve yanked off his wrist and all the way up to his shoulder.

It was gorgeous. Gleaming, smooth, cool, masterfully crafted; an entire right arm of automail.

"You're fast," he said faintly over the shoulder she'd wrenched out of the way to get a good look at the arm.

"So bright!" She barely cared that she was gushing aloud. "Look at the way the elbow glides in the joint, the exact proportions of the forearm! It's so shiny! How far up does it go?"

She tried to further inch back the fabric to examine the port and determine exactly how much organic material had been replaced with automail.

With a twisting of hydraulic joints, the arm slipped out of her adoring grasp. She looked up, feeling miffed.

"Get off, you tactile - " he was scrambling back, his feet colliding fairly solidly with the floor in an effort to get away. They were making slightly different sounds on impact.

She dove.

"- oriented psycho - ack!" He uttered a squawk trying to jerk back as she gripped his left ankle. She lifted the leg off the floor and he was left momentarily flailing for balance on one leg while she ripped off his boot-style shoe.

"Your leg too! Not everyone would put this much definition onto a foot, all the toes are individualized! It's been replaced up to your knee, past your knee - "

The leg flew up out of her hold, and she blinked for a moment at how he had eluded her before realizing that rather than fighting gravity he must have just worked with it and bent completely backwards before flipping himself away from her. Understanding didn't mean that she could actually _see_ what he was about, and all she saw of him was a swiftly moving blur before he suddenly settled with both feet against the wall. He hopped to the floor and cornered himself between two walls, scowling darkly.

What annoying agility.

"Automail junky," he muttered.

"Alchemy freak!" she shot back, because she didn't know enough about him to come up with a more apt insult. Then, just as before when realization took her longer than it should have, something clicked into place as she longingly scanned the metal that clothing hadn't yet slipped over again.

"Hey, I recognize that style." She started to rise from her kneel, but settled again when she saw him tense. "Did Pinako design your automail?"

"Yeah?" he affirmed with aggressive curiosity.

"Figures she'd get an order like that after I left," she grumbled.

"You know her?"

"She's my granny."

He gave her a blank stare, and then a cursory up and down look before saying decisively, "I don't see it."

"Being related to someone doesn't make you like them."

"I'll agree with you there," he snorted, while still seeming to convey that he'd grown bored. "I'll be sure to let her know about your current residence the next time I run into her."

"Wait, you're STILL just going to leave!"

"Obviously, why wouldn't I?"

"I know Pinako! She's my grandmother!"

"So?"

"Don't you at least have any respect for _her_?"

"As someone said not too long ago, 'being related to someone doesn't make you like them'. Any towering virtues of hers don't automatically transfer to you. Besides, I wouldn't put it past her to have had some arrest-worthy patches in her life."

He was showing every indication of taking off again, and then she'd be left with her original pile of odds and ends in the middle of the room as her only means of making a break out. How could she get him to work with her, what did she have to bargain with? If she could get him to stay, it leveled the chances for a way to transmute the odds into evens in her favor. The Alchemy Guild was founded upon the principle of equivalent exchange, what kind of deal could she swing?

"If you won't help because of my connection to someone you trust," she said slowly as her plan coalesced into cohesion and he gave a snide grunt that confirmed what she'd just said, "how about a trade?"

His stance unwound slightly as he asked, "What kind of trade?"

"One that's equivalent."

"Toss me back my shoe and we'll count that as the exchange for hearing you out."

She lobbed it at him, and started outlining her idea while he slipped it back on. "I can service your automail and you can help me get out of here."

"I don't need any repairs, and there are plenty of non-incarcerated mechanics I could apply to if I did."

"Shows what you know, one-trick alchemist. Your ankle joint is getting gummy, your forearm needs to be opened up and cleaned out, and I don't know how you did it, but the ACL and PCL bands in your knee are respectively tighter and looser than they should be. _That__'s _just what I can tell from a quick once over."

"Now I just have a list of what needs attention. Why should I let you take care of it?"

Exasperation swirled in her gut, and she stood up despite how he tightened and eyed her suspiciously.

"Pinako is my grandmother, she's the one who trained me. I know her techniques, her style, how she puts automail together, and how she intends for it to work. Barring Granny Pinako herself, there is no one better to fix up your arm and leg than me."

Her eyes narrowed in satisfaction, she could tell he thought she'd made a valid point. He seemed to relax minutely, and leaned casually against the wall while studying her.

"Your entire stock of tools seems to constitute one wrench and a pile of scrap. That's not exactly par for the course for automail repairs."

"So what. If I tell you what they look like, you can transmute the tools I'd need, right?"

He exhaled and gave an, "I guess," that implied he was only answering affirmatively because it'd be an insult to his pride to deny his ability. "I'm still not busting you out of jail though."

"That's not what I had in mind," she smirked. "You can help me make good on the conditions I need to meet to be released."

"What kind of requirements are we talking about?"

She hesitated, trying to think of a way to favorably phrase what she wanted him to do, and the least ridiculous way to explain the admittedly ridiculous task she had inadvertently set for herself. Not completely inadvertently, she just hadn't expected anybody to take her literally.

"When I first came to this town, it was very important that I made a good impression," she said carefully, watching him to make sure they were on track so far.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he glared at her impatiently.

"I wasn't established yet. There's pretty stiff competition from the mechanics around here, and I figured getting an edge in advertising couldn't hurt."

"You made some massively overblown statement about your abilities you can't actually follow through on," he summed up brusquely.

"It - well - essentially."

He gave a self-satisfied huff. "What kind of outrageous claim was it?"

"That I could make automail that was as gold."

* * *

><p>AN: This is purely for fun, and purely because several criticisms of the original fairy tale came to mind while I was reading it to a younger sibling. I couldn't decide if I thought it worked better for the characters of FMA or FFVII. In the end, I decided to do a version for both and see if one of them was wildly more popular than the other. Don't worry about skewing my results if you want to read both, I was just wondering if there would be a significant difference in the popularity of FMA vs FFVII. Both stories will have three chapters, following the beginning, middle, and end format.


	2. Where Conflict Arises, Again

**Small Favors**

_Middle: Where Conflict Arises, Again_

By FullMentalPanic

"What kind of idiotic claim is that?" The chuckling drawl he said it in left her wanting to smack him upside the head with her wrench.

"At least I'm not the idiot who believed it!" she said heatedly, and guiltily, because it had hardly been the most refined way of trying to promote herself.

"Needless to say, whoever threw you in here doesn't understand metaphors?"

"He's miserably ridiculous! I explained everything, but he still wouldn't believe I couldn't just manufacture gold!" Her glare switched over to him as he continued to snicker. "You think it's funny how I was wrongfully imprisoned?"

"Nah, I'm just amused by the general derangement in this town. Anyone who's been around automail knows that gold is the last metal you would want it to be like. It wouldn't even hold up to my body-weight, let alone everything else I put the stuff through...On second thought, I _do_ think it's funny you got thrown in jail over that."

"Whatever. Will you help?"

"Wait, you want _me_ to transmute gold for you," he stated with an annoyed glare.

"You can, can't you?"

"That's beside the point. Transmuting any kind of currency is strictly against guild regulations."

"Why?"

"The economy, stupid. Ever hear of inflation? You can't just go pumping money into the system without goods or services to back it up. That just makes prices skyrocket and discerning citizens come breaking down the guild doors to get back at us for not keeping our hands off."

"I am providing a service! I'm repairing your automail, so that makes it equivalent exchange for you to do something for me!"

"Sure, you're giving up your time and skill, but clapping my hands together to get gold doesn't cost me anything. What am I giving up?"

"If it bothers you that much, just give something of yours away that's equal value to an automail tune up and that'll make up for the gold floating around in the marketplace."

"Do you realize exactly how little gold is equivalent to what you're doing for me?"

"He only specified gold, not the amount required."

"Judging from the junk pile in the middle of the room, I getting the impression he expected you to convert that stuff into gold."

"Then he should have paid more attention to what I said. I can make _automail_ that is as gold. There's very little automail in that pile, and that equals very little gold."

"You think he's going to capitulate on a technicality after getting only a handful of profit?"

"I just have prove I can do it, and then - "

"Hold up, you actually want this false reputation, don't you? Are you thinking this through?"

"Here's the deal. You're going to pay me in gold for repairing your arm and leg and our _business _arrangement ends there. Whatever I choose to do with the payment shouldn't be any of your concern."

He gave her a piercingly incredulous look out of one eye, and then abruptly shrugged. "Why not. I doubt I'm going to find what I was after in this place, and I've got a few hours to waste."

"Yay!" she shrieked ecstatically. Every other issue paled beside the fact that she was going to get her hands on some fine quality automail. "Come right under the light! I want to see everything!"

His shoulders twisted out of her grasp and he side-stepped away from where she was tugging him under the uncovered light bulb. She frowned at his glare before reluctantly pulling her giddiness into check. He wasn't going to relax around her unless she treated this professionally.

"It's important for there to be as little shadow as possible where I'm working. Directly under the light is best," she said briskly.

Eyebrows quirked in wry acceptance, he shrugged out of his coat and dangled it from one hand. "You got a coat rack in this reputable place of business?"

"Ah," she floundered. The walls were all bare, there wasn't anything on the door that clothing could hang from, and nothing in the junk pile could be cobbled together into anything tall enough to keep the fabric off the floor.

With a smirk, he flung the overcoat into her arms as he walked up beside her. "I imagine working on the floor isn't ideal," he said sardonically.

"Of course not," she scoffed. "But it's not like I have access to the med table or bed -"

"How tall would it be?"

She waved a hand vaguely at hip height, giving him a slightly disbelieving look. She had an inkling what he was doing, but it didn't seem likely he would do it just to make things easier for her -

His hands slapped together and he knelt with his fingers splayed on the floor. A low pitched crackling rumble rolled as a section of the floor stretched upwards to the level she had indicated, the pile of scrap in the middle of the room sliding away from the rising stone. It was just like an oblong mini plateau, or one of her repairs tables except -

"It's not very long."

"There aren't any giants who are gonna lie down on it so it doesn't need to be obscenely long," he bristled. "I should knock off a few ounces of gold because you're not adequately equipped for service."

"Charges would cover the upkeep and maintenance of all equipment so it wouldn't make a difference," she snipped, spreading his coat over the improvised table in lieu of padding. "We can use the rest of your outer clothes to cushion this."

He grumbled, but handed over jacket, shirt, and trousers until he was down to light-colored shorts.

"Sit on the edge. I want to do a bilateral assessment first." She didn't usually state everything she was going to do before she did it, but he was suspicious and skittish enough that it seemed like a good idea to give him a heads up on her plan of action.

He hopped up and she crouched to measure his automail leg against his flesh one. The familiar contrast of cool metal in one hand and warm skin in the other immediately faded as she ran into a problem.

"You've outgrown your leg."

"Really?" He sounded more pleased than anything else.

She stood quickly and pulled his arms straight out in front of him. It was there as well; skin covered fingers stretched out just a tad further than metal ones. Not much of a difference, but he was going to start walking with a noticeable limp if it got much farther.

"So make a height adjustment."

"I can't do that when they're _attached_ to you!" she exclaimed in exasperation. "It would feel like something was trying to tear its way out of your joints. Could you sit still through that?"

"Take them off to do all the adjustments then."

"That's normally how it goes. You do remember what it feels like to reattach an automail limb, right?"

"I'm aware," he stated drily.

"The point is it'll take a while to recover from," she pressed. "You won't have enough time to work through it before we run out of night."

"Believe me, I can cope," he smiled grimly.

"You don't get it," she gritted. "This isn't just about adjusting your upper and lower arm and leg. If you want to be symmetrical and balanced your palm, the arch of your foot, and every one of your fingers and toes need to be lengthened. If I _only_ work on that I _might_ finish in time for you to pull yourself together and hobble out of here, but that doesn't take into account all the other maintenance you need plus anything else that might need to be fixed along the way."

"This is going to take all night isn't it?" he muttered bleakly.

"More. I can do the regular maintenance with your limbs still attached and within the time constraints...It'll also leave enough time for you to transmute the gold," she tacked on remembering the reason for this arrangement.

"Without you finishing the job first?"

"There isn't time! If we complete our deal I should be out of here some time tomorrow. Just swing by the Rockbell shop and I'll do your limb adjustment gratis and with better facilities and time allotment for recovery."

"Because you're certain to be my favorite mechanic after we're done here? No thanks, I'll find someone else who can work on the lengthening."

"Fine," she thrust a piece of scrap metal at him. "Eighty-two degrees undercut flat head screwdriver."

He wasn't familiar with every name she rattled off so she she had to give exhaustive descriptions, but in the end she had everything she needed. Tools in hand and automail easily being manipulated and repaired she felt contentment settle into a steady thrum inside her. She didn't voice anymore of her enjoyment, but the rhythm of work drew her muscles into relaxing and she was vaguely aware her mouth had fallen into a half-smile.

The guy attached to the automail seemed to be more at ease as well, she realized as she was adjusting his knee. A passing glance revealed he was leaning back on one hand while casually swinging the guild pocket watch he'd held onto with the other. She'd love to get one of those alone with a scratch awl and some pin vises. Eying the flashing silver she remembered that alchemists weren't awarded a pocket watch unless they were also awarded a title.

"What's your official guild name?"

With a slight start he shifted his eyes from idly perusing the cell to watching her. "Fullmetal," he voiced after a moment of hesitation.

"Makes sense," she hummed. "Do you keep your real name too, or does everyone just call you the Fullmetal Alchemist?"

"Given names tend to become as well known as your title in the guild."

"And?"

"People don't always keep up on physical descriptions though," he grouched.

"And?"

"And what?"

"And your given name is?"

He huffed in annoyance and tossed his pocket watch in the air before catching it in a closed fist. "Edward Elric."

"Mmm, alliterative."

He guffawed and looked irritated when she tapped her wrench against his knee. "What?"

"You're supposed to ask who I am now."

Reluctantly he grunted, "So are you Pinako the third or what?"

"Winry." She deftly snapped the casing around his knee shut. "Rockbell. Pleasure to meet you."

"Potentially useful anyway."

"Also interesting. Your leg's done. Lift your arm up."

Raising his arm, he kicked his leg experimentally and said grudgingly, "It feels better."

"Of course it does," she stated, quickly appraising his arm to remind herself what she wanted to do to it. "I'm the best at what I do. Lie on your stomach so I can access the back of your shoulder joint."

He flopped down while muttering, "How arrogance doth reign, alone in a valley."

"Don't try to use maxims to be snide. I've had plenty of people to compare myself too."

"Oh, really? I seem to recollect that Pinako set up work in what's known as a rural location. If you've been hanging out in that neighborhood for most of your life, there couldn't be much competition in the automail field."

"You saying Pinako isn't one of the best around?" she demanded, leaping around to the head of the table to glower directly at his outlandish aureate eyes.

He harrumphed, but didn't contest it, so she stepped primly back to his shoulder. "I'm getting plenty of exposure to other mechanics in this town, aren't I? And every time I finish a job I'll have more people in the know about what I can do."

"Which is why you resorted to false advertising?"

"People won't come to you for jobs if they don't even know you're there," she mumbled.

"Aside from your erroneous publicized claims, were you just expecting your prowess to spread by word of mouth?"

"Mechanics tend to have a lifelong connection with their patients. Especially if their patients are abusing their automail the way you are. You should have stopped in to see granny months ago," she chided.

Turning his head away from her he lowly said, "I can't be bothering her with every little snag I hit. I'd never get anything done and neither would she."

"It's a mechanic's _job_ to help you over the snags. Anyway, when people get fitted with automail, they don't always cover it up the way you do and questions about where they got it and how it's working naturally come up."

"How many people have you fitted in this town?"

"Taking you into account...one."

"Which means there's a lot riding on your performance here," he drawled challengingly.

"It means my reputation will be set as soon as there's a Guild Alchemist sporting my work. Solid as gold," she said confidently.

"Which means it'll be pretty malleable."

"Depends on what it's alloyed with."

"You remember Pinako designed it and not you?"

"Repairs are bound to come up at some point, and then you'll be singing the praises of yours truly."

"Right, I'm totally the type to spout off empty flattery."

"Just be honest," she said more seriously. "If someone asks, don't play up my work to be more than it is, but don't negate it either."

There was silence as she made some final adjustments inside his shoulder joint to ensure he maintained the full range of motion. Nodding briefly in satisfaction, she slid the outside covering in place and slipped the screws into their cavities before reaching for one of the slender flat heads to tighten them.

"You're doing a good job," he said almost inaudibly.

"Thanks."

"Hey, that opinion may change depending on how you finish up that arm," he declared more loudly.

"I wouldn't bet money on that," she asserted lightly.

"You're probably right," he agreed under his breath.

Quiet eased into the room, more soothing than oppressive, to her at any rate. When he started snoring, she realized the perception was mutual. If she was willing to move around, she would be able to bend his arm enough to get at whatever she needed, so she let him sleep.

The casing around his pocket watch was too thick to let any ticking from the mechanism escape. Still, the steady clink of her tools against his automail reminded her of a clock. One that made time a friend, where each beat pulled something back into place, building closer to completion.

Everything else was set, and she had the lower arm panel open so she could do a final check on the inside of his wrist and forearm when she sensed it. Nudging tubing aside, she was struck by the conviction that something wasn't right. She scanned the area again, trying to pinpoint the anomaly. No flaw was forthcoming, and she narrowed her eyes as she again pushed aside the tubing only to discover it was behind that where something looked slightly wrong. Tracing the section with her fingertips, she was surprised to find there was a patch where the metal felt...thinner.

Frowning, she slid the fingers of her other hand under his arm while pressing down from inside to determine that, yes, there was a subtle dip in the thickness. There was nothing to be accomplished by having thinner automail in that minute area, and her granny didn't make mistakes like that.

"Wake up," she demanded, jostling his arm. There wasn't any reaction so she tried a higher volume. "Stop sleeping!"

"No," he slurred, and went back to snoring.

"Edward Elric, snap out of it right now!" she prodded verbally and with her wrench.

"Just Ed," he yawned. "What's wrong?"

"Why is a piece of your automail missing!"

Stiffness settled onto him immediately, but he answered nonchalantly. "You noticed that, huh?"

"Course I did. How do you lose something like that! It's not even gouged out!"

"Didn't"

"Didn't what?"

"I didn't lose it, I took it out. There was something I needed it for."

"So you just started picking off body parts!"

"Sometimes that's what it takes."

The tone he said that in had her faltering over what she'd planned to say next, and she instead murmured a little self-consciously, "What did you need it for anyway, and why didn't you just put it back when you were done?"

"It doesn't concern you," he quietly answered, eyes fixed away from her.

She lowered, but he stayed stubbornly clammed up. Breathing out she carefully detached one of her earrings. "This is pure automail so it should be easy to incorporate. Just absorb it below the wrist joint right _here."_

He gave her a rather startled look. "You don't have to use something of your own. I can compensate with being imperfectly balanced."

Wafting away the protest she said, "Anything short of perfection is going to have problems. I'm not going to be satisfied with shoddy work if there are any other options. Besides, I can easily get a new earring once I'm out of here."

"You sure you're not just trying to work the deal more in your favor by bringing more to the table?"

"Good idea! Does this mean I can wrangle more out of you?"

He chuckled low and brief. "Maybe. Hold the earring where you want it melded for a minute."

She pressed the metal against the area that needed a tad more mass. Smoothly, he swung his left hand over and touched it lightly to his automail palm. There was a skittering tingling around her fingers as the earring melted away from them and into his arm as energy transferred from his hand. She slicked over the sparking metal, making sure the absorption was even.

"Don't do that!" he exclaimed, jerking his arm away. "Your fingers could get stuck while it's transmuting!"

"You've got more skill than that," she asserted, clamping down on his limb while she closed everything up. "And the tune up is now complete!" she announced triumphantly.

Pushing up to his knees, he flexed and examined his arm. "Nice."

"Glad you're happy, now let's transmute some gold." She started gathering up the bits of automail from the pile of scrap.

"Wait until I'm dressed for the occasion first," he said as he slipped off the table while simultaneously pulling on slacks and sleeveless shirt.

Shoving the rest of his clothes out of the way, she stacked her small collection on the table. "I think this is about equal to what payment would be."

"It'll do. Do you want it in a solid block or what?"

"Chips would be better because they take up more space. It's supposed to at least look like crafted automail though, so maybe you should just convert these to the other element while keeping their shape."

"I can be a little more creative than that," he grinned, and his palms came together then down on either side of the pile. The color of the reflected power on the automail vacillated as the element transformed into a richer hue. Energy flashed as the material under it stretched and grew, and then vanished over a complete, segmented metallic arm.

"How'd you make it bigger?"

"I didn't, I just made it thinner and hollow. It's only an outer replica."

"It looks just like yours."

"Complaining?" He crossed the copied automail arm across his chest along with the flesh one.

"No. It looks perfect."

He gave an appreciative sounding huff while she carefully lifted the contoured metal, measuring its substantial weight against an actual automail arm, solid and filled with the machinery that allowed it to function as a limb.

Gathering the tools he'd transmuted, he quickly molded them back into harmless looking pieces of scrap. As he stepped into the shoes they'd left beside the improvised table, she had an abrupt sense of how things were drawing to a close while he maneuvered into the rest of his clothing.

"Thank you."

He snorted.

"Time check?"

He flipped open his watch before clipping it back into place on his clothing. "Seven minutes after five am."

"We're good with that then," she breathed. "So...ah...take care."

"Yeah...you too." He trapped his overcoat under an elbow, and with a final sounding clap, sent the oblong table back into the floor. With an almost uncertain nod, he stepped over to the wall he'd come in through and brushed his hands together before making a passageway.

Sweeping his scarlet coat back over his arms, he cast her a slanted look before pulling his braid free from his collar. "It'd be kind of a pain to go over everything I need with another mechanic." He jerked the cuffs straight then looked at her defiantly. "So I think I'll drop by your shop later today for that limb adjustment."

"I'll keep an open slot in the late afternoon," she said casually though she made no effort to keep the gratified grin off her face.

His expression was put upon for a moment before it eased into a smirk. "See you then, automail junky," he said carelessly before ducking into the transmuted tunnel.

"Alchemy freak," she saluted, and the wall closed behind him, leaving her alone with the cold gleam of gold in harshly manufactured light.

* * *

><p>Yoki apparently didn't equate early rising with good leadership. She'd dropped off, woken up on her own, and started tinkering with some of the spare parts in the middle of the room before she heard the approach of steps.<p>

When the plate on the door slid open, she only listened to the beginning of his morning solicitation before smugly stepping aside so he got an eyeful of her night's bargaining. His stuffy voice squeaked off and there was a frantic scuffling before the door swung open and he tripped over to the soft yellow. The bodyguard was instantly in the doorway, giving Winry a haughty glance that entailed escape attempts would not be tolerated. Winry crossed her arms confidently and shot back an even more uppity glare. She didn't have any reason to run. She'd delivered completely on her part of the deal and that snobbish bodyguard was going to be escorting her out in a matter of minutes.

In actuality, she was impatiently tapping her foot before Yoki finished cooing over his new acquisition and got back to her.

"Well, Miss Rockbell, I must say I'm quite pleased," he gurgled, approaching unsteadily under his armful of gold.

She tried not to look too disparaging. It wasn't _that_ heavy. "It's always nice to see a satisfied customer, so now that you've verified I wasn't lying, I'll just be heading back to work."

"You're certainly a young lady of incomparable talent. I'd hate to see that go to waste."

"Which is why I'd be obliged if I could get back to my shop. Daylight's burning."

"I rather feel that your skills are being squandered in such a common venue."

"Well, there's no place like home! Don't worry about me, I like it there."

"Surely an enterprising young woman like yourself is always looking for ways to advance her name."

"Displays like this one should do a good job at that," she gestured pointedly at the room they were in.

"However," he murmured, fingering the golden arm in his grasp. "This is only a small portion of what you are capable of."

"Yeah, there wasn't a lot of automail in here to work with."

"True, true." He was suddenly crowding her so she aggressively switched her stance to arms akimbo to use an elbow to keep some distance between them. "If I had been more attentive in preparing this place for you I'm sure the results would have been more profitable."

"Hindsight's like that," she spouted. Ed seemed to be rubbing off on her.

"Fortunately, this is a problem that can still be remedied."

"Say again?" she snapped in consternation.

"My dear Miss Rockbell, I would be delighted if you would consent to perform the service you did last night with a _much_ larger allotment of automail."

"No."

"No?" he questioned softly.

"The only reason you had for imprisoning me before was to make sure that I wasn't setting myself up under false pretenses. Clearly I wasn't, and you have no basis for holding me any longer. As a business purveyor I have the right to decide what kinds of services I provide, and I've determined that the gold thing isn't really practical, so I'm suspending it."

"You're very legalistically informed," he complimented. "However, there are nuances to every law. An individual of power and prestige, such as myself, will automatically command the ability to convince others of the rightness of his position and requests. " His voice had slunk down to a whisper. "This is commonly referred to as, 'because I say so'."

"I say I'm not making anymore golden automail," she gritted, fighting down incensed panic.

"Patience has been one of the virtues I've encountered a few roadblocks in cultivating. If the motivation of removing yourself from prison didn't produce flattering results within a few days, I'm afraid I would be compelled to employ harsher means for obtaining your cooperation."

Maybe she could bean the bodyguard with her wrench and make a break for it before anyone saw it coming.

"However, I do recognize the power of incentive, and am prepared to entice you accordingly. If you are so gracious as to manufacture more gold just for me, I will gladly compensate you with an arrangement that will prove to be mutually beneficial."

The way he was twirling his mustache with his free hand was sending decidedly unpleasant zings down her left arm, and what he said next nearly pushed her to heart failure.

"I will grant you the incomparable honor of becoming my wife."

* * *

><p>AN: How often do we actually see Ed using that pocket watch to tell time? At this point, "Small Favors" has significantly more hits than "Name Me", thumbs up to you readers for making it so!


	3. Where Things Get Resolved, And Begin

**Small Favors  
><strong>

_End: Where Things Get Resolved, And Begin  
><em>

By FullMentalPanic

"Who could resist an offer like that?"

She'd never met anyone who could lay on the sarcasm like he could. She'd had all day to stew over her predicament, sans a nice several hour nap, before Ed had shown up, citing drily that her absence outside of prison had tipped him off that something was up.

It was nice to have someone to complain with, and she systematically listed all her grievances.

"He must be at least twenty years older than me. Maybe more!"

"Creep."

"How could he possibly think _this_ is the highway to marital bliss? I can tell you, sunshine and joy are the last things on my mind when I think of him."

"I'm pretty sure he's counting on being able to cry into a pile of gold whenever you go through any relational rough patches."

"And I never would have been so insulting in another case," she said piously, "but he is...not attractive."

"Mustache doesn't do anything for you, huh? He didn't get his position on account of his good looks anyway. Though I couldn't tell you what other towering virtue got him the post."

"I still can't believe he actually thought I made that whole limb with just a wrench."

"He was already kind of suspending disbelief that you could make gold at all, what's a little more improbability in the mix?"

"Technically it's not even automail anymore if it's turned into gold."

"Overbearing _and_ dim, there's a winning combination."

She leaned her head against her arms folded over her knees, and the smile sneaking onto her face flickered out. "What am I gonna do?"

"Dunno."

"Why are you here?" she said shortly.

"I'm supposed to get my automail adjusted, for free, and I'm kind of mad it hasn't happened yet."

"Why don't you take it up with my current landlord? If you ask nicely maybe he'll let me off picking out a caterer for a few hours."

"He's only interested because you've built up a completely fraudulent version of yourself. Once he gets to know the _real _ you, he'll head for the hills."

"And have me shackled to a life sentence for lying."

"But you won't be married to him, so it's still a happy ending."

"I was hoping for a little more in life than being single and living in a ten by twelve box to the end of my days."

He nodded. "So what are you going to tell your kids about how you met?"

She blanched. "You don't think he wants to have _kids _with me, do you?"

"Marriage entails many things," he said cryptically. "Can't say he strikes me as the fatherly type though."

She agreed, but the fact that he was dredging up even more things for her to worry about didn't put her in a compliant mood. "Like you have any experience in fatherhood."

"Every kid has a dad," his tone went from darkly snide to solemn, "and what he does or doesn't see of him decides what a father should be and what he should never do."

"My dad died."

"I _wish_ my dad was dead," he whispered hoarsely.

She bumped his arm softly with her elbow, and he grumbled neutrally. Well, she could only spend so long on self-pity, and she was sure if she shelved her problems for awhile they'd be still there waiting patiently for her return.

"Listen, it's not the best environment, but if we do what we did last night I can probably lengthen at least your leg before anyone comes to check on me."

"Yeah, that won't make me feel at all guilty to put you through that tonight."

"Well, there is a lot of automail spread around and you could do your whole -"

"I'm not transmuting more gold. Where do you think that leaves you when your beloved betrothed comes in the morning? You'll end up married to him and he's going to expect you to keep making the stuff for him! Plus you said you'd do the lengthening pro bono."

"What else am I supposed to do? You think he's just going to apologize and let me walk out of here if I come clean?"

"So why not run?"

"Besides how I'm locked in a cell? I don't want to give up being a mechanic, and I'll never be able to work in this town if I don't get this cleared up."

"It's not like this town is the only place you can work. There's other stuff out there, just move."

She fiddled with the adjustment screw on her wrench. "This was my all or nothing gamble. Everything I had saved went toward getting my shop set up and equipped. There was a little bit left over but - "

"But that went into an unfortunately convincing ad campaign."

"Yeah," she sighed. "At this point the most financially stable choice probably would be to marry him."

"The dowry you bring in will have you guys set for life," he snickered. Then he glanced at her sour expression and gaped. "You're actually considering it? Are you crazy!"

"It's not like you've thought of anything helpful," she bit.

"I suggested you escape and skip town. Who cares if you're dirt-poor for awhile? You can do repairs for me with a normal paying for services process. "

"I'm still stuck in jail! My career choices are already on the rocks!"

"You're agreeing to let someone like _him_ be the father of any kids you have. It makes me feel like breaking into your nursery to liberate the innocent anklebiters from their idiot parents!"

"If you're willing to do that for my theoretical baby then why don't you just break me out!"

"Fine!"

"...Really?"

He looked surprised at his own word, but then shrugged into confident unconcern. "Sure. You can take other clients on the side, but you did imply I need more regular maintenance."

She stared at him with perked optimism. This seemed to come out of nowhere, but part of business was being able to recognize a prime opportunity when it fell into one's lap. At the same time, it wasn't completely spontaneous, it was directly linked to how she'd acted and performed when she'd tuned his automail. He stirred and she realized she hadn't confirmed their agreement. She hopped to her feet eagerly, she'd always wanted to do one of these officially.

"Edward Elric, I consider you my Principal Client."

"Winry Rockbell, your skill will be the first I turn to and all that." His abbreviation didn't dim her excitement in the slightest and she beamed at him. He looked like he might be inclined to smile himself.

She skipped to the side in satisfied glee. "So what changed your mind about me being a shady character on the far side of the law?"

"Before it was about not letting you run rampant with lies against a presumably benign society. Now _you're_ being coerced. This time _you're _the victim."

"Thanks for making me feel empowered. I prefer 'wronged party'."

"How about 'vengeance bent psychopath you wish you'd never messed with'?"

"Replace 'psychopath' with 'mentally sound and enraged' and I'll wear it."

"Mentally sound and enraged mechanic wreaks havoc on unsuspecting civil servant and loyal bodyguard," he drawled.

"She's an alchemist too."

"_Is_ she now?"

"Does that make a difference?"

"A huge one," his grin went feral. "I was going to put in a complaint over your jilted fiancé in any case, but if his bodyguard's one of our own...we have a whole cornucopia of methods for dealing with indiscretions on the part of our own members and those who hire them."

"He's part of the military."

"We've got an understanding with the military."

"Aren't you well connected," she smiled. "Well, mister alchemy freak, shall we clear out?"

"Mechanical maniac, ma'am," he muttered congenially, and opened the wall.

They proceeded to make their exit with the bare minimum of sarcasm.

Traveling together, they found many reasons to be snippy, and to stick by each other regardless, and their relationship eventually became a little more legally impervious. Ed did have the habit of picking up and jaunting off with her child. She hardly minded though, when he was holding her firstborn child in his arms, he was also holding his.

* * *

><p>AN: The fairy tale this was parodying was "Rumpelstiltskin". I think it's possible for people to figure it out in the first chapter, but just in case anyone was wondering. Winry fills in for the miller's daughter, Yoki takes the place of that gold-grubbing king, and Ed is the replacement for that odd little man who can spin straw into gold. "Small Favors" has a heap more views than "Name Me", but the latter has more reviews, which I'll admit I hold in very high esteem. Thanks for reading and affirming me in the weird ideas that cross my mind!


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